Six

Yesterday, Andrew and I celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary. We have two wedding anniversaries, technically, and yesterday was the first. Since it fell on a Tuesday, it was Tuesday as usual (errands, laundry, a little knitting) until Andrew got home.

Andrew brought me my favorite flowers, which I don't know the name of, but I still love them:

Can you name these flowers? I call them "Red Lilies".

But there was more. You see, when you've been with someone for a few years, they notice things. Like your favorite chocolate:

The one on top is my favorite-favorite, and there *were* two.

But what I was the most excited about, was this:

Mmmmm! The flavor of love is "pickled".

Yes. Pickled cocktail onions. Two years ago (at a fancy dinner) I had my first martini, and while I thought the martini was merely "eh", the cocktail onions stole my heart. We stopped at a grocery store in our fancy-pants clothes so that I could get a jar. (I might have eaten two or three jars worth over a couple of weeks. Maybe.) If it's pickled, there's a good chance that I'll love it.

But that's not all.

After that, we went for something that I was having a hankerin' for. Fried pickles and garlic parmesan wings, and there's only one place around here that has them.

For the knitters: Sock is the Vanilla Sock with the Andrew variation, out of Creatively Dyed J'ouvert (Cake)

Now, before you start telling me about how Hooters objectifies women, I already know. In an attempt to support anyone *but* Hooters, I have tried the fried pickles at places like The Counter (Caution: Noisy website), which is very fancy-pantsy, and they're not half as good.

(Though, the Counter is where I go if I have a hankering for an excellent burger. And ogle the waiter who looks like John Barrowman.) In order to get good fried food in this area, you've got to go to a seedy joint like Hooters. That's a fact.

So, in short, it seems that in six years of marriage, Andrew has figured out the mystery-wrapped-in-an-enigma-sprinkled-with-intreague that is me.

And the answer, evidently, is food.

To Miss K, with love

Dear Erin;

Happy belated birthday! As your BFF, it's my responsibility to make sure that your birthday is awesome. We've both been very busy, and due to shortages in materials, your birthday gift was delayed.

Before we talk presents, let's talk about you. You're smart, gorgeous, talented, and HILARIOUS! You are always up for a crazy adventure, a creature feature, and the occasional accidental adult zombie flick. (I'm still sorry about that one.) You're always a good sport, and you make me smile even when I'm in the middle of a bad mood.

More than that, you are a good friend to me - the best! I love that you've offered to menace people at the wool auction on my behalf, and offer to shank people who make my life harder. You're the O'Brien to my Bashir. The Chakotay to my Janeway.  The Picard to my Riker. The Spock to my Kirk. You get the picture.

You'll always share a good story, chores, or a bowl of pho with me. You're willing to try my culinary experiments, and you're always very encouraging.

I know that you feel overwhelmed by your stuff right now- that's normal during and after a move. I wanted to do something for you that would be clutter-free, special, and a little decadent.

These are made with Jackie's secret cupcake recipe

I managed to talk Jackie into giving me her ultra-secret perfect chocolate cupcake recipe. It's a totally from-scratch recipe, and in my opinion, the best cupcake ever to pass my lips. I wanted a spectacular base for the main part of your gift, the blue whipped cream roses.

I was going to do blue gumpaste roses, which I found a few months ago. I hunted everywhere, and there was no gumpaste to be had in all the land. I ended up at Barbara of Pauline's (in Willow Glen), and Barbara herself took me in the back and taught me how to make whipped cream roses.

(Quick segway- Barbara of Pauline's reminds me of one of those yarn shops that's been open for 40 years, where they teach you what you want to learn then and there, and they have Definite Opinions about how Things ought to be. Barbara has a wealth of knowledge that she shares; she was patient with my uncoordinated self, and was able to isolate my technical issues and explained clearly how to fix them.)

You read about how I practiced making the whipped cream roses, and that was so that yours would be beeeautimous. I used food coloring to make your roses blue (your favorite color of rose), and I also used just a tiny bit of rose water in to give them a faintly rosey smell. Mom and Laura helped with putting the green on the cupcakes, and we all ended up faintly Smurf-colored by the end of the night.

I hope this year is a great one for you with plenty of time for you to do the things that you want, lots of fiber, and projects that turn out perfectly.

Love,

Your Feffalina

Diminished capacity

Today, I learned a new skill:

A thing of wonder and beauty

I learned how to make whipped cream roses. Since I'm a kinetic learner (meaning: I've got to do it to learn it), I bought a pint of whipped cream and practiced making roses while watching the newest episode of Glee.

The best way to learn how to make roses out of whipped cream (or anything out of whipped cream, for that matter) is to whip up a pint, sit with your family, practice the task, and then eat the results, rinse, repeat. You develop the skill, and your family consumes a ridiculous amount of whipped cream. It's a great activity for bonding the family, in my opinion.

(My favorite part was declaring the defective ones, then eating them. The good ones were admired for a moment before being consumed.)

As you can imagine, with that quantity of whipped cream Things were bound to ensue. Mom declaring that the next rose was hers (out of turn); Andrew screaming about whipped cream rose conspiracies. I might have kicked something over and declared the living room to be Sparta. (That's not an admission of guilt, it's just ... something that *could* have happened. Get my drift?)

In any case, in planning future activities, the following conversation took place between me and Laura'nge:

Laura'nge: So, I'll pick you up for yoga tomorrow?
Me: For the early class or the regular one?
Laura'nge: Wait, you're planning to go to two classes?
Me: I think I can do it, but it might be the whipped cream talking.

Punctuality

When I'm running late

Every light I hit is red

I look like a jerk.

No, this isn't today. Disk Dr, Rapid City, SD 07/2004

Santa drives a Geo Metro this year

Part of the adventuring that has kept me from blogging has been the insane amount of time I've been spending in the car.

In my opinion, gifts that take arrangement and planning are usually the best ones. This year, I got my mom the Best Gift Ever. If you listen to the podcast, you know that she has wanted a vintage treadle Singer sewing machine for YEARS. As in, ever since they left the one they had in Germany. Every time a vintage machine is mentioned, or at a yard/estate sale, we stop, and for some reason or another, the machines fail to impress.

Fast forward to Oregon Flock and Fiber 2010. I was chatting with a listener (Elaine, who is AWESOME), who collects and repairs vintage sewing machines. She mentioned that she was looking to unload a few of them (to good homes) and I may have mentioned that Mom has always wanted a vintage treadle Singer. Elaine said she had just the one, and let me know that she would get back to me with pictures.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. Elaine sent pictures, stats, and a price, and I was a little lost. It looked really, really good, but I wasn't sure if it was exactly right. So, I blew the surprise and let Mom know that I was going to make this sewing machine happen for her, if it's the right one. I just didn't know enough about a) sewing machines and b) what she was looking for, specifically, to make this decision with confidence. Mom loved it, so I set things in motion.

Here's the tough part. The machine was north of Seattle, and for those of you playing the home game, I live in Silicon Valley. 13 1/2 hours each direction, by car (according to Mapquest). You betcha that this puppy can't be shipped.

"It's ok, Mom," I said, "It's totally worth it. Merry Christmas!"

In a fit of shock, enthusiasm, and perhaps a little self-pity, I posted to Facebook that I might be taking an impromtu road trip Seattle-ward to see a lady about a vintage Singer. A friend of mine (through my BFF Miss Kalendar) generously offered to do the pickup for me. It turns out that she was *already* going to be driving up and back to Seattle, and she didn't mind being one of Santa's non-Unionized elves.

She arranged the pickup details with Elaine, and we made plans for me to pick up the machine from her place (in Santa Rosa) on Wednesday. Joined by my partner in adventuring (Laura), we ran errands all the way up to Santa Rosa and picked up this beauty from Delightful Lila:

I should have told you to brace yourself. Sorry. (Picture courtesy of Elaine, the Singer fairy)

What? You need a better look at the machine itself? I understand.

Have you ever seen anything more perfect? (Picture courtesy of Elaine, the Singer fairy)

Laura and I had a long, traffic-riddled drive home after the machine pickup, so we decided to stop for dinner. Fortunately, I had a recommendation from the incredible Rosemary Hill. Other than being a brilliant knitwear designer and creator of AMAZING jewelry, she also has phenomenal taste in food. She recommended Syrah Bistro in Santa Rosa.

I love a good Syrah, and along with having a staggeringly awesome wine selection, the food was incredible! We had the world's best waitress (sever? Is "waitress" still PC?), and enjoyed a leisurely meal while we waited out traffic. We got home just after 10 PM, and the guys cheerfully unloaded it into Mom's house.

Mom had seen the pictures, and it's even more beautiful in person. The gasp of delight as we walked through the door with the cabinet and the machine was amazing. (For the record, historically when Mom has gasped, it's Not a Good Thing.) Andrew still has to mount the machine on the cabinet, but it's on the docket for today so that Mom can start enjoying the machine now.

Thanks to Elaine the Singer Fairy and Delightful Lila, Andrew and I have managed to make this the best Christmas ever for Mom. The best gifts are the ones that require Ocean's 11 type planning and precision, don't you think?

Full of spirit

I have been swept up by the Holiday Spirit. That means something different for everyone, I know, but for me it means baking, Christmas music, and family functions. I have strict rules around the holidays, but they're mostly there so that I can really get my jolly on.

Like my main rule, no Christmas music before Thanksgiving. First Halloween, then Thanksgiving, THEN Christmas. Get it straight, retailers. I love Christmas music, just at the right time of year. I especially love *my* holiday playlist, which includes Michael Bublé (shock!), Frank Sinatra, Brian Setzer's orchestra, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and a few of the Carols for Cure CDs which support Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS.

I'm most enthusiastic about the last set of CDs. It's holiday music done by Broadway actors. Aside from supporting a great cause, the music is pretty great.  Some of the songs are interpreted in the style of the show that the singers were doing (concurrent with the recording), and some are the classic arrangements performed by wicked talented singers. (I put all my holiday music into iTunes, make sure the genre is tagged with "Holiday", and play it all on shuffle.)

On a more traditional note, we went to see MiddleJ perform in The Nutcracker last night. I'm not normally a fan of ballet, but I am MiddleJ's biggest fan, and not in the creepy Kathy-Bates-in-Misery way. (By the way, thanks Steven King. Way to ruin a perfectly nice sentiment.) MiddleJ is incredibly talented, and I find more and more to enjoy about the performance every year.

This year, it was the wicked adorable little kids in the production, mostly the ones playing mice, soldiers, and the cutest of all, the lambs. Watching little kids do ballet is ADORABLE. They remind me of a herd of puppies- cute and enthusiastic, which upstages all of the fancy-pants ballet dancers. (This is scientific proof that enthusiasm trumps talent, for the record.)

In any case, at the end of the show, I took the opportunity for a knitterly photo-op:

(The photo is blurry, but my photographer is tall and handsome. You understand.)

What's that? A sock with a future afterthought heel? It's the sock of choice for all Nutcrackers; you saw it here first.

You can't always get what you want

Dear Cece;

I miss knitting on you. I know that when you arrived in the mail, I (practically) tore through the Tyvek envelope with my teeth to free you, balled you up immediately, swatched, and cast on within the hour. There is just one thing keeping me from you, and we both know what that is.

Sweater Swap 2010: A Twist Cardigan for Meghan, from the Stitch It! Podcast.

Meghan's sleeves. I honestly don't remember the sleeves on my own Twist taking this long. I blame the fact that Meghan is taller than I am, Cece. Every row on this pair of sleeves is like an eternity away from you.

What I'm saying, Cece, is that while knitting cables feels more appropriate for the practically Canadian weather we've been having in California, I'd rather be knitting you.

But I will tell you one thing, Cece. If your sleeves take HALF this long, you're going straight to time out. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Love,

Jasmin

Get them while they're young

Last night, we celebrated MiddleJ's 17th birthday. I'm totally stunned at the fact the kids are growing up at light speed and turning into charming young adults. The milestones (birthdays, graduations, etc) feel like suckerpunches - we see all the kids with relative frequency, but it's the milestones that remind us all that they're growing up.

In any case, I decided to pull a few articles out of my winter closet for the occasion. It's been Very Very Cold (<60 F), which gives me a chance to wear my beautiful knits. I chose charcoal slacks, one of my Jackie O turtlenecks, a black silk cardigan, and my Juno Regina stole. I knit the stole a million years ago, and it doesn't get nearly enough wear. See?

Juno Regina, knit out of Handmaiden Sea Silk in "Pumpkin". 'tis the season, yo.

In any case, I showcased it by stylishly wrapping it around my neck with the pointed ends in front. The whole ensemble made me feel six feet tall, and like I was walking a runway regardless of what I was actually doing. (And let's face it, I have a FIERCE runway walk.)

Then, out of NOWHERE, came an amazing moment. Another niece, who I'll call Galette (because she is sweet, not fussy, and does her own thing), paid my Juno a compliment.

"Aunt Jasmin, your scarf is really pretty," says Galette.
"This? I knit this," I said, a little shocked.
"You MADE this?" Galette and LittleJ took time to investigate the pointed ends.
"I did."
"Could you make me one for Christmas?" Galette asked, hopeful.
I snorted, "Christmas is a month away. That is so not happening."
"Next Christmas?" Galette was still trying, and I found her optimism adorable.
"No. But, I can teach you how to knit, and by next Christmas, you could make one of these for yourself," I offered sincerely.

At this point, LittleJ mentioned that she had gone back to her knitting. I taught all Three Js to knit when Andrew was living in the cottage attached to their house, seven or eight years ago. The kids were interested, and as any self-respecting knitter knows, you strike while the iron is hot and plant that seed early.

It WORKED.

Long, long ago, LittleJ wanted to make a Gryffindor scarf. So, as any good aunt would, I enabled. I bought them Kids Knitting by Melanie Falick, hoping that the initial lessons would spark a lifelong knitting flame. LittleJ worked on it for a while, but her interest waned. It happens.

Fast forward to Thursday night, when LittleJ and her friends were all going to the midnight premiere of the new Harry Potter movie. LittleJ remembered her neglected scarf, and since they were dressing up for the event, she grabbed it in hopes that she could wear it that night. She noticed that it still was finished, so she grabbed her trusty knitting book, and flipped through it until she found the section for binding off. (For the record, she refers to binding off as just "binding". I dig it.)

In true knitterly fashion, her friends were in the car waiting for her, while LittleJ is saying things like, "I need to finish binding my scarf!!!" She did, she wore it, and I think she might just have gotten that little hit of knitting that has the potential to become a lifelong obsession. (Or perhaps it is I who is the optimist now.)

In any case, as the night progressed, it seems that all the girls there (MiddleJ, LittleJ, Galette, and the Equestrienne) want to start (or in some cases, revisit) knitting. When they started talking about this, the hills were alive with the sound of knitting, and I was Maria Von Trapp.

Since then, in my imagination, I'm leading the kids in a rousing rendition of "Do Re Mi" (but with a knitting twist "YO, a stitch, a hol-ey stitch. K, a simple knitted stitch. V, the shape a knit stitch makes..."). My imagination *might* have completely run away with me. Maybe.

Me? I'm just glad that I was able to leverage knowledge that evil industries have collected for good. Get them while they're young, and they'll be knitters for a lifetime.

Or at least, an aunt can hope.

Where have all the knitters gone?

Let's talk about the zombie apocalypse.

I've been on a zombie flick kick for a while (starting with Zombieland, which was surprisingly good), and I've noticed a distinct lack of people with any actual skills. No architects, no engineers, no farmers or ranchers, but most noticeably? No knitters, tailors, or seamstresses. Not even a couturier can be found. (Admittedly, they are rarer in real life anyway, but still.)

First, let's talk about what I've been watching. I got a double-dose of zombie apocalypse yesterday- the TiVo picked up Land of the Dead which featured my favorite man in a vest, Simon Baker, and John Leguizamo (who I apparently only like in drag). They go a little off-script with the interpretation of zombie mythos- mainly that the zombies are sentient, communicate, and have a leader. (I can just hear the trailers, "One zombie to lead them all...")

The people are all loathsome, the rich have somehow maintained their lifestyle in a gated-type community, the working stiffs fight the zombies, and everyone works for The Man. I briefly thought that this was a movie where people work together to survive. It turns out, it's about the triumph of the zombie spirit, since at the end, we find out that the zombies *only* want a place where they, too, can be safe. And kittens. They want kittens.

We could say that Land of the Dead is dated- since it came out in 2005. AMC has started a series called The Walking Dead, which is utterly captivating. It features Andrew Lincoln (who you might recognize from Love Actually or Teachers), and shows the best and worst of what is left of humanity in the United States. The exposition has been artfully crafted, the characters are being slowly developed, and the zombies seem to be sticking to the classic zombie mythos. (I hate it when they go off-book. Fast zombies, my foot.)

I won't spoil the show for anyone (because if you haven't seen it, you should give it a shot), but we're finally getting to see day-to-day life for the survivors. There is hunting, and people do laundry, but nobody is knitting. Or sewing. Or mending. We finished watching the episode, and it really, really bothered me that given a fixed amount of pre-prepared resources, nobody is thinking ahead.

Let's face it; clothes wear out. Even *if* the cities are full of abandoned department stores, they are also full of zombies. In the best of times, it's hard to find something in your size. Nevermind a store that's been looted. Plus, the gal at the dressing room is probably a zombie. We know from The Matrix that all the future holds for us is sweaters that are full of holes, since "progress" equals never learning how to mend your sweaters. I don't discriminate, apocalypse-wise. I saw 2012, too, and there was (again) a lack of people with actually useful skills. (But LOTS of nasty, movie stereotypes of rich people.)

As an aside, should any apocalypse come, I would rather have my knitting group in my camp than an army of MBAs and entrepreneurs. Or scrapbookers.

Andrew pointed out that the survivors (on The Walking Dead) haven't yet figured out that their clothes will wear out, which I countered with the fact that making clothes? Takes time. Especially if they don't have access to commercial fabric, power, or yarn. When you start from scratch, this stuff takes time. You have limited light, and have to be mindful of repetitive stress. (Though, I pointed out to Andrew that my Victoria was the best wheel for an apocalypse, since it's small and light.)

Plus, while the department stores might get looted, chances are good that you can find an LYS that is (mostly) intact.

So, to summarize, come the zombie apocalypse, come find me. We'll be the warm and well-dressed camp. And as my BFF points out weekly, everyone else will just be food.

(Thanks to my BFF, Miss Kalendar, for the inspiration for this post. Go listen to her podcast, Brass Needles. It's knitting, sci-fi, and brilliant.)

Deductive reasoning

I got home from a great yoga class tonight, but am not feeling stellar. When Andrew called to see if I needed him to pick anything up on his way home from work, we had the following conversation.

Me: I'm not feeling great, I am going to drink some water and go lay down.
Andrew: Did you eat something?
Me: Yeah, and Mom is going to boil noodles to go in some soup for me.
Andrew: What do you think is wrong?
Me: I don't know. Maybe the flu? I feel like butt.
Andrew: It can't be the flu; you got a flu shot.
Me: Well, then it must be butt. Because I didn't get a butt shot.

All hail the foresight to freeze my healing chicken broth so that all it needs are elbows.(And my amazing deductive reasoning.)